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by call_me_steve



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BASED ON THE CHARACTERS NOT THE REAL FOLKS, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Depression, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Exile, Referenced Wilbur Soot and Technoblade, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, also they're siblings, ao3 pls let me tag philza minecraft, bc i stole the idea from my friend haha, but it's different than you'd think it is, but u gotta love him, chat, fuck you i'm gonna monopolize on the philza mc tag and y'all aren't even gonna know what hit u, he has made mistakes i will admit, hehe, im laughing at all these tags and its so horrible of me, it's just wil's, kid's got trauma luv, like it's never expressly stated but, mayhaps anyway, no beta we die like wilbur, oh the tiniest tw for a panic attack, so pre-s2 finale, sorta - Freeform, tommy's living in techno's basement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28922103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: Tommy is by himself in Technoblade's house when someone arrives. That someone is Phil. It is not the smoothest of reunions.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 268





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**Author's Note:**

> ty to my friend for letting me steal all their ideas like the little raccoon i am, ilysm,,,,,
> 
> also someone tell me to stop please
> 
> (sorry for rambling in the tags lmao)

**Tommy,** someone says, as quiet and soft as the evening breeze. It's hardly audible over the soft sounds of the disc he'd left playing. 

**_Tommy, someone's here._ **

For the past few hours, Tommy has been staring at one of the discs in his collection. It sits atop the jukebox, center gleaming in the torchlight, _mocking him._ It tells him, _How are you not strong enough to get the others back, Tommy? Why are you so weak?_ To drown it out, Tommy has been focusing on Chat's many voices, all of which blend together in a blur of sound. While he's not sure if Chat is helping to serve its original purpose, he's found himself in a hazy in-between for a very long time. There are no thoughts in that in-between place; there is only the present and the not, which Tommy clings to with his entire being. 

He doesn't, after all, _want_ to think. Thinking means remembering Tubbo and Dream and Wilbur and- Thinking means remembering. Tommy doesn't want to remember, right now. 

But, the voice- it belongs to Chat, because it shifts to a different voice every time it repeats- doesn't let him continue; it doesn't let him stay in that numb in-between. _Tommy,_ it says, instead. 

**_Come on, get up._ **

**There's someone here to see you.**

What little of Tommy that is in the present silently asks, _Who's here?_ _Don't tell me it's Dream._

While most days, even _thinking_ Dream's name would set him into a panic, Tommy just feels... _sluggish._ Almost mechanically, Tommy plants the heels of his palms onto the too-stiff mattress beneath him. He still has to take a moment to register his surroundings: he is in Technoblade's basement rather than Logstershire. Well then, that easily solves the _who's here_ question. It's not Dream- (Dream doesn't like Techno much, and only showed up for random visits while Tommy was in exile). It's probably just Techno. 

"You don't have to tell me when _Techno_ comes home," says Tommy, collapsing back into bed. He leaves just enough of his face peeking out of the pillow so that he can still see the discs- better not sever the line to Chat just yet. With any hope, he'll be able to fade back into that in-between. "If he wants to see me, he can just get me himself."

 **It's not Technoblade,** says Chat. 

**_Quit being all mopey-_ **

_Go see who it is._

It's not Techno. That means it's someone else- and very few people know where Technoblade lives, these days. 

A bolt of fear shoots up his spine. "Is it Dream?" he asks, in a whisper. If it's Dream, he'll have to hide; but, without someone else here to keep Dream _away,_ that's almost an impossible feat. The only thing he can do is freeze in place and suck in a breath. It is too quick to be substantial, so he tries one more time. Before he knows it, he is doing it again and again, lungs begging him to quit it-

 _Breathe, Tommy._

**There's no way it's Dream.**

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. It's not enough to shut Chat out, just yet, so he still has their voices clamouring in unison. He tries to steady his breathing enough so that his heart returns to its normal, steady, one-and-two-and beat. They're right- the likelihood of it being _Dream_ is very slim, just as he'd thought at first. But, if not Techno or Dream, then _who?_ Ghostbur? The Butcher Army, coming back for a round two? Tommy doesn't really want to _see_ any of those people at the moment, but- 

It's either _talk to them_ or _keep hearing Chat tell him to talk to them._ (After all, he doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to sit in _silence.)_

"Fine," says Tommy. He hates how flat his voice comes out. "I'll go see who it is. If it's Dream, I'll-" 

The words die in his throat. He won't be able to come back to dole out any sort of threat if it's Dream, so what's the point? With that in mind, he finally opens his eyes and turns away from the discs. Chat fades back and Tommy is left laying in an empty room, surrounded by shining blocks that aren't actually his. At least there's still music, fluttering through his ears. 

Dream never really liked it when Tommy popped a disc into the jukebox. Tommy would like to think that playing music is a sign that he's not Dream's property, anymore. Or- maybe Dream didn't like it when Tommy _had a disc_ because of _Chat._ Either way, Tommy tries to eject the idea from his head. It's like he said- he doesn't want to remember, right now.

Getting up takes more effort than it's worth. For a bit, Tommy just lays on the mattress, telling himself, _Come on, Tommy, get out of bed._ It's not really as easy as that, though- so, by the time he's finally sitting up, he just feels dead-tired; the sort of tired that chases you all the way down to your core. This isn't something he's used to feeling. Tommy was made to run and to fight- not to be so still and silent.

Perhaps it should scare him, then. 

Perhaps it is worse that it doesn't.

Eventually, Tommy stands up. His feet are bare and the freezing cold floor makes him shiver. At least it is better to be cold than to be nothing at all. Or- no. That is wrong. Tommy preferred to be numb. He preferred to be in that in-between where he didn't have to worry who was knocking at his door. 

As his fingers curl around wooden ladder rungs, Tommy shuts his eyes once more. He longs for Chat to return, fighting among themselves or calling him _SleepyInnit._ He would prefer the borderline harassment to the empty husk he feels like, now. 

He hoists himself onto the ladder and fixes his hold so he's gripping another rung higher than the first. His feet half-push him higher; then, he pulls himself up again and repeats until he's back above ground level. Through the windows, Tommy can see that it's now midday. Techno has been gone for the past half-a-week so Tommy hasn't been staying very updated with the sun's movements. 

Also, through the windows, Tommy can see that Chat was right. Someone stands outside on their front steps- though, Tommy cannot tell who, because he can only see a sliver of their shadow. 

Quickly, Tommy doubles back and quietly opens one of Techno's chests. He pulls out an axe- not _the_ axe; like hell would Techno trust _Tommy_ with it- and balances its weight between his hands.

 _Please don't be Dream,_ he thinks, as he inches near. 

Rather than asking, _Who is it?,_ Tommy just slams open the door and levels the axe-head at his visitor, so very sure he's about to see green popping out from beneath shimmering netherite armour. 

Instead, while he _does see green,_ this green is dark like the pins of a pine tree. 

Not Dream, but-

Bucket hat. Old robes. Wings, spanning out behind them. Blonde hair and blue eyes. 

_Phil._

Tommy hasn't spoken to Phil since- _Gods,_ he doesn't even know when. The last he remembers hearing about, Phil had been on house arrest. The last he remembers _seeing,_ Phil had slid the blade of Wilbur's own sword through his son's chest. So- no, Tommy doesn't really want to talk to Phil. Not right now. Maybe not _ever._

But it's too late for that. Phil's eyes are centered on Tommy; are already widening in recognition. 

"Toms," says Phil, as though he is allowed to say that name. "I- Techno told me you were staying with him, but I guess I didn't-" 

Phil runs a hand through his bangs and laughs, self-consciously. Tommy has to physically restrain himself from slamming the door shut. Maybe, if he did, it would hit Phil right in the nose. It wouldn't hurt him even a _sliver_ of how much Tommy- _how much Wilbur-_ has hurt in the past, but it would be satisfying. 

"Leave," Tommy orders. This time, he does not care if his voice is too flat. He does not want to talk to Phil. 

"Toms-" 

Finally, _finally,_ the gates open. The dam breaks. Tommy is so _tired of being compliant_ and he is so _tired of being numb._ He wants to feel something and right now the only emotion he has is that boiling rage that flickers inside of his gut. It wants to be let free and Tommy is not going to deny it; he is so, so _mad_ and all he wants to do is _break something, hurt something, ruin something,_ **_please._ **

"You don't _get to call me that!"_ he shrieks, and realizes that there should be a part of him that regrets yelling at the man who had raised him. (But- had he? _Had_ Phil raised him? Or had it been Wilbur, while Phil went to meetings and on trips and was _away?)_ "You haven't _been there,_ you goddamn _bitch,_ so don't you dare _'Toms'_ me as if you have." 

Whether or not Phil is about to try and say something, Tommy doesn't give him the chance. "You have _never_ been there for me," he hisses. "I have been on my _own,_ in _exile,_ while you did whatever the hell you pleased." 

_You should have been there,_ a part of Tommy thinks; but this part is small and childish and belongs to a boy who doesn't exist. _You should have_ been _there._

He should have, but he wasn't. As Dream broke Tommy down to tiny shards, Phil wasn't _there._ And- _before that._ Tommy was _stuck in Pogtopia_ with his older brother, forced to watch Wilbur crumble before his eyes. Then, Phil had the _audacity_ to walk into Manburg and _slaughter_ Wilbur as though he were doing the Gods' work; he had the _audacity_ to not even _look for Tommy_ and make sure he was alright. 

Tommy clenches his hands into fists so hard he leaves indentations in the skin. There is so much he wants to _scream_ about but he does not have the words- _how_ does he tell Phil that he _killed Tommy's brother_ and it _hurts so goddamn bad?_ How does he tell Phil that he wanted him to show up, so, so badly, while Wilbur drove himself mad; while Wilbur broke down into hysterical tears over the eyes in the walls; while L'Manburg _vanished before Tommy's eyes._

All he can cry is, "Why weren't you _there?"_

"I didn't know," says Phil. "Believe me, Tommy, if I had just _known-"_

_If I had just known, I would have flown to the ends of the Earth to make sure you were okay._ That is, of course, what Phil is trying to say. Because- that is Phil, to a T. He would have done something if he could have; if he _had known_ he _would have._

And then Tommy wouldn't have had to suffer through everything that had happened. 

And then Tommy wouldn't have had to lose his _brother-_

All of Tommy's anger, as short-lived as it was, bleeds from his body. He does not feel numb; not yet. Instead, a sob bubbles up in his chest and he cannot stop it before it shatters in the air. 

Phil, without a word, opens his arms. Tommy falls into them and pretends like he is not falling apart. No matter how hard he clutches at Phil's robes; no matter how tightly he grips at his dad's shoulders- Phil does not say a word. Tommy _sobs_ like he has never sobbed before. _Everything_ drips away as he cries- Wilbur, Ghostbur, Dream, Techno. Tubbo, Big Q, even Phil himself. There is no room for anything anymore- there is no room for _remembering_ because Tommy is fractured and broken and _hates it so, so much._ Tommy is crying like a little boy who has fallen and scraped his knee- but, no, Tommy is crying like a _teenager_ who has lost all hope because everything he has suffered through has been things he never should have _had to suffer through._

"You're okay," says Phil, when Tommy's tears subside. "You survived it all and I'm so, so proud of you, Toms." 

Tommy isn't sure if he sobs again or not. He feels empty, again. Numb. He has cried himself out and now there is nothing left; he is just sluggish and tired and _empty._

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there when you needed me," he says, before pulling away for a moment. One of his hands rises up to cradle the side of Tommy's face, thumb swiping over his cheek. Tommy realizes that Phil's own eyes are red; realizes his own cheeks are covered in tear tracks. "I'll try to be there, from now on, son. I'll find a way to fix this." 

And then, Phil adjusts his hold so his chin rests atop Tommy's head, buried in his curls. He pulls back only to settle a kiss against Tommy's forehead.

The words don't fix what has happened. They don't- but- it's a start. At least Phil is _trying-_

Tommy thinks that maybe he can try, too. 

After all, he is so very tired of being alone. 


End file.
